


A Choice of Living

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Requests/Prompts [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Accident, Domestic, EMT!Ian, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Prompt:Hi lovely! Is it okay if I request a prompt if you're still taking them? Set sometime after Season 6, but Mickey didn't go to prison and him and Ian are still together- Mickey's a mechanic now and Ian's an EMT, one day Mickey gets a call at work from a colleague of Ian's telling him he needs to get down to the station because Ian's been in a work related accident- nothing too serious, maybe a patient got a little too aggressive and Ian stepped in to avoid anyone else getting hurt?? Thank-you :)





	A Choice of Living

No one ever expects the worst day of their life. 

Usually, everything is going like normal, maybe even _better_ than normal, and then suddenly...

Not so normal.

This was particularly Mickey's experience with--

Well, he never could trust a great day because his great days for some reason always ended traumatically. It'd happened three times now!

But what he wasn't expecting was for what was almost the worst day of his life to occur on a perfectly average and normal day.

Ian woke up before Mickey, got the coffee going, and Mickey rolled out of bed a few minutes later from the subconscious knowledge that Ian wasn't in his bed.

He never bothered with a shower in the mornings because he was going to sweat and come home covered in grease, oil, and exhaust anyway, so what was the point?

He pulled on a pair of clean boxers and lightly stepped down to the kitchen where, as always, Ian stood with a frying pan poised over a burner and the rich aroma of fresh coffee brightened Mickey's whole demeanor, wiping his usual grumpiness off his face. Mickey was never a morning person--never had been and never _would be_ a morning person, but there was something about waking up to fresh coffee, fresh eggs, and Ian Gallagher that made him nearly resemble one. He smiled instinctually; he was always happy these days because for the first time in his life, things were _really_ good.

Ian's meds were working, he finally returned to his silly self and acted as though there was nothing else he ever wanted more than to spend time with Mickey and his family. It was an incredible improvement over Ian's depression over the winter. It wasn't like the first time because he was able to get out of bed... but over the adjustment period when Ian _finally_ agreed to take the pills, he was zombielike, unbearably crabby, and never wanted to let anyone near him--Not even Mickey. He'd been afraid of Ian doing something stupid, but thank fuck he got it in his head to become an EMT--and anyone who knows Ian Gallagher knows that when the stubborn fuck gets an idea in his head, it's stuck and that's it, it's happening.

While Mickey searched for his own straight-and-narrow path, he helped Ian with his GED. As he helped Ian study, the redhead was able to trick Mickey into taking the exam too--the prick used that reverse psychology bullshit to ultimately make the logical point that Mickey was basically learning this material too, so he may as well get the credit for it--and then he trained and studied with Ian for his EMT certification. It took all winter and spring but finally here Ian was, a certified EMT with a full-time job with benefits and all of that yuppie shit. Mickey often swelled with pride at how well Ian was doing, and Ian never failed to remind Mickey that he should be proud of himself too.

With his GED, options opened up for him that he'd never even thought to consider wanting. Though Mickey was proud of himself for certain things, he was also just downright confused about how _to_ feel and how to continue on along this new pathway.

At the moment, he was just a mechanic's apprentice, picking up the trade and the practice _before_ committing to a mechanic certification program down at Malcolm X. The pay was a joke and the idea of benefits was a punchline in itself, but it was a job that could lead somewhere and Ian acted like he owned his own shop already... and it was weird. But it was nice.It was nice to do something worthy of praise for once, even if _he_ thought it wasn't that big of a deal.

He was pulling out last night's laundry, searching for their work clothes as Ian cracked eggs into the sizzling skillet. Like a well-oiled machine, Mickey filled their coffee cups and set two pieces of bread in the toaster. Ian sipped from the cup Mickey offered and leaped into a story from the other day. A patient was in the midst of an _awful_ acid trip gone wrong. He swore and screamed about his juice, insisting someone was going to spill it as they loaded him into the ambulance. At the time it was a horrible and confusing realization that his patient believed _himself_ to _be_ a glass of orange juice!

Getting him into the ambulance, they had to figure out how to set him upright enough to keep the imaginary contents safe and keep him calm, but in such a position where Ian and his partner could work. The poor guy screamed and screamed that they were going to lose his insides and both EMTs were at a loss for how in the _world_ they were going to settle this guy down until the sedative kicked in.

Now with the nightmare past, the lingering humor of a grown-ass man thinking he was a glass of _orange juice_ had Ian and Mickey in stitches in the kitchen, unapologetically laughing at the man's expense with only the teeniest twinge of guilt.

From there, Mickey told a much less extreme story and a story that was guilt-free but still funny as fuck.

He told him about the straight couple he caught banging in the back seat while waiting for him to get there and help change their tire. He pulled up and the two were going at it in the backseat like the end of the world was approaching. They didn't even slow down when he pulled up... they were _so_ absorbed that they didn't even notice him. Ian howled in laughter as he described the couple scrambling for their clothes only as he started jacking the car up to start working on the flat tire.

"Noooooooo!!!!!" Ian cried, sliding their eggs onto two plates Mickey had laid out for them. 

"Yes!" Mickey cried back, plopping two buttered pieces of toast on each plate. "At one point I even had to tell them to keep it still or the jack would slip and _that_ ride wouldn't be fun!"

"You _didn't_ _!"_ Ian challenged, grabbing his plate and coffee. Mickey gave him a look that said, 'bitch do I lie?'

"They stayed put and thought about the uncomfortable situation they put me in the whole half hour I worked on it. Mickey handed Ian a fork and dug in to his own breakfast as Ian leaned back in the chair, holding his stomach from the laughing. Mickey's plate was almost empty by the time Ian was able to take his first bite.

"You're gonna get complained about one o' these days--"

"Oh, and you think Pal is _really_ gonna fire his errand boy just 'cause a coupla yuppie morons were caught getting it on when they knew _damn well_ that someone was coming?" Ian's head jerked in a sort of shrug, a gesture that said, 'well, when you put it that way...' Mickey allowed a soft grin to sit confidently on his face as he watched Ian finish up his breakfast. Between the two of them they were finally creeping up on having enough money saved up to get their own place... Something they had always talked about but neither of them had actually believed would actually happen. And here it was, the opportunity to really get their life started together. With Mandy and Iggy scattered to the winds, Ian was Mickey's only family, and they were both ready to finally start living like fucking adults--to leave a fucking dish in the sink without anyone but Ian to answer to about it, to leave a blanket on the sofa because, _yes,_ sometimes it was nice even in the summer to curl up on the sofa without someone harassing you about 'claiming' family spaces, to be able to use _any_ towel in the house without worrying about what it had touched before he picked it up!

It was the simple things Mickey wanted. And the _most_ simple of all things, was the ability to make fuckin food for himself, or for his boyfriend to make them some food, without having someone to fucking answer to about why they didn't make enough for the whole house. It was like fuckin clockwork how Mickey's brain immediately went there, Fiona gave them that shit almost every fucking morning.

"You know, that smells great, guys! Why not makin enough for Liam 'n me so _we_ can eat before our busy days, too!" Fiona called as she stomped down the stairs, the child following close behind, even screaming "Yeah!" behind her, though he probably didn't even know what was being said.

"Fiona--" Ian started, his tone warning, but Mickey wasn't playing this game any fucking more.

"Then get his ass up earlier and we will. Got no problem makin food for whoever's here but I don't know one person alive who is okay with reheated eggs and I'm not about to waste any food here. So, you want breakfast? You know what time we're up. Every morning." Fiona, mid-pour of coffee, flashed a glare at him and was just about to start yelling back until Mickey stood up. He didn't even do anything to inspire intimidation in her, she was just intimidated of him. One would think that she would be more comfortable around him after seeing how soft he got around the redhead--the embarrassing number of times he turned to mush in Ian's arms when he hugged him from behind in front of the whole company should have done it on its own--but for some reason there was something about him that always got her to freeze before arguing back with him.

"I'm not waking him up earlier than he needs--"

"And we're not making food that's just gonna go to waste," Mickey shrugged, taking his and Ian's plates to the sink to rinse off.

"You don't have to be such an ass about it!" She snapped as he walked away to grab the laundry he had laid out for them.

"'Ey, right back atcha, Fi!" Mickey called back, turning around to give her a sarcastic smile and salute before bounding up the stairs, Ian probably offering an apologetic shrug behind him before following. 

"You don't have to rise to her like that, Mick," Ian laughed after sliding their bedroom door shut. Mickey tossed Ian his uniform and shrugged.

"I can't listen to her fuckin bitchin anymore. If the kid wants eggs and bacon, get him up at eggs and bacon _time!_ Otherwise, poptarts or oatmeal!" Mickey shrugged as though saying 'it's that fuckin simple!' Ian chuckled quietly and traded out his night pants for his uniform pants and buttoned his uniform shirt over the undershirt he always roamed the house in.

"It probably wouldn't kill us to stick some eggs in the fridge for him, Mick," Ian reasoned.

"Bullshit! _You'd_ eat reheated eggs?" Mickey demanded.

"If it was that or goin hungry," Ian shrugged, tucking his shirt in and working through the wrinkles for a smooth fit. Mickey paused, his own uniform halfway up his mostly bare legs, eyebrow arched in impatience.

"Fiona would _actually_ give him that ultimatum?" Mickey grumbled in disbelief. Ian shrugged. But that wasn't an answer, and revealed exactly what Mickey already knew: She fucking wouldn't.

"She couldn't even actually hold Debbie to a rent for her and her kid so what makes you think she's gonna force the kid she's raised since birth eat somethin he don't want? Face it, Ian, she babies him."

The door slid open forcefully and both men jumped, turning to the opening of their room. An irritated Fiona stuck her face in--so much for Mickey intimidating her... Maybe she had just been picking her battles before this point?

"You say this as if you and Ian don't practically chew each other's food for the other. At least the person _I_ baby is _actually a baby!"_

Mickey surged forward as she turned away, satisfied that she was going to have the last word, but Ian stopped him, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he visibly fought the urge to laugh.

"He's in fuckin grade school, Fiona! He ain't a baby no more, either!" Mickey wrestled out of Ian's grasp to turn around and finish getting ready for work and when he turned back around, Ian was still visibly fighting laughter, a smug smile planted on his face as he leaned against the wall beside the open sliding door.

"What?" Mickey demanded.

"She's got a point..." Ian mumbled. Mickey's eyes busted out of his head.

" _Fuck off,_ you're supposed to be on _my_ side!" Mickey charged through the door and turned the sharp corner into the open bathroom to brush his teeth and fuck off away from the Gallagher house.

"Just admit that she got you with that one!" Ian chortled behind him, huffing out a laugh at Mickey's returning glare in the mirror. He begrudgingly moved over so Ian could access his toothbrush and the toothpaste... Normally, he begrudgingly realized, he would have done it for him and handed him his prepared toothbrush before preparing his own... And that action would be _way_ against the point (well... a point _for_ Fiona's point, which was against his point), so this time, the asshole could apply his own goddamned toothpaste. 

Mickey usually finished with Ian because if it were up to him he'd just go once over, front and back, but according to sergeant hygiene, his EMT boyfriend, that wasn't long enough. But this time he did it _his_ way, rinsed off the brush, rinsed his mouth, and darted down the stairs and out the door. Ian was an impressive five steps behind him, the door barely even closing behind him by the time the redhead followed him out of the door.

"Got any plans after work today?" Ian asked casually. Mickey tried to think of a smart-ass thing to say, but his game was off--or maybe it was because he just genuinely didn't have anything snide to say--so he just shrugged and shook his head.

"You?" Ian shook his head and smiled, probably smut that he once again brought the raging Milkovich pitbull to heel. 

They worked on opposite sides of town so they had to get on different platforms of the El and when they reached their usual split off spot they both stopped.

"I'll see you tonight, then," Ian said gently, a light smile gracing his face and... ugh pissing Mickey _off!_ He was never just _allowed_ to be irritated when Ian was around, but it was his most natural state! A smile of his own answered, just proving his previous point. He wasn't allowed to have any other emotions but sheer fucking joy.

"Yeah." 

No one was usually around or awake in this neighborhood at this time, so their brief kiss was always exchanged with confidence that they were alone. In a snap, Mickey's irritation was gone, and he felt the difference in his looks as he looked back at Ian, his eyes much softer and happier.

"I love you," Ian whispered. 

Sometimes Mickey felt like sayin it back, sometimes he didn't. Today he felt like he was already mushy enough for one morning. So, he turned on his heel and started for his El platform, calling "Yeah, yeah!" behind him. He could almost picture Ian's responding headshake and smile as he turned to continue down the street to his own platform.

//////

It was a regular busy morning of appointments for Pal, Mickey keeping the wireless in his back pocket, answering every ring: "Pal's autorepair, always entrust your vehicle to a mechanic who's also your pal, what can we help you with today?" Pal got on him once or twice about his indiscreet eyeroll at the stupid greeting, but the responding sarcastic and entirely too bright delivery the next time was even worse than Mickey's mostly invisible eyeroll. It was the only issue Pal had with Mickey. His work ethic otherwise was always brilliant.

 _"Hey, Mickey! Be a bud and crawl under here to see if...."_ and Mickey was under that car before Pal could even finish his sentence. He was learning more than he could have ever imagined from this man and Mickey was grateful. In the past six months, Mickey had slowly gone from only answering phones to doing oil changes the main mechanics didn't have time for, to tire rotations, and then of course was the "Pal's fifteen mile guarantee of friendly service." If someone had a flat tire or needed oil, water, coolant or anything else to get their dying car the rest of the way to the shop, they could count on someone from the shop to come and help. Well, Mickey finally convinced Pal to let him go on those infrequent calls so he and his mechanics didn't have to stop what they were doing to figure out who was going. Mickey got to drive one of the mechanic's cars and usually picked up some food on the way back for everybody. It was a little errand-boy for his taste, but it got him out of the shop and _doing_ something, so Mickey was happy with it.

This particular afternoon, Mickey was finishing up an oil change when the phone rang. It was timed just right so that Mickey couldn't stop what he was doing or else he'd fuck up the alignment or risk stripping the bolt, so he let the answering machine get it--something that Pal fucking _hated_ but begrudgingly understood when Mickey was torso deep under a front end. As usual also, the phone picked up again--probably the same person calling back because they thought _their_ car emergency was worse than the one the mechanics were possibly dealing with right then. 

He tapped the wrench one more time with the heel of his left hand and, satisfied, rolled out from under the car, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

He ripped off the glove on his right hand and was about to answer the phone when voicemail picked up again. 

Mickey rolled his eyes and stood to clean his station, tucking the phone in his back pocket while he worked.

"Milkovich!" Pal's kind voice was tinged with... not anger, Mickey had heard anger before and his voice wasn't deep enough for that. Mickey turned to face his boss and his whole body immediately chilled as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. Pal's face was like Mickey's--Almost always in poker-mode but occasionally revealing slight irritation or amusement. The only time either of these men showed true _emotion_ was when something huge had happened. The set of Pal's face was grave, and seeing the old man so clearly concerned knocked the air out of Mickey's lungs. 

He felt frozen, but apparently his body moved on autopilot as he weaved through the work stations of the garage to get to his boss. The old man just held out the grit-coated wireless phone and clapped Mickey one solid time on the back as he strode back into the garage.

"Mickey here," Mickey croaked nervously.

"Mikhailo Milkovich?" A woman's overly-calm voice boomed through the receiver.

"Yes," he replied evenly.

"You are down as Ian Gallagher's emergency--"

"Ian? What happened?!" He interrupted, yelling without even realizing it. Behind him, the whole garage, usually a cacophony of various metallic clangs and screeches, fell silent. Mickey wanted to take this call in the office, but his boots were suctioned to the cement step.

"There was an accident."

The details were a blur.

Something about a ran red light, the ambulance, Ian jumping, surgery, Sue...

Nothing quite clicked in Mickey's mind as the woman explained on. At the end of her story she asked if he got it all and Mickey had stupidly replied that he had. Just as she was about to hang up he cried, "Wait! Wait! Where is he?" The booming pause practically screamed her concern for Mickey as he realized that she had probably already told him. "Just... Remind me, where is he?"

From there he repeated the hospital name and the name of his doctor over and over and over. He was still too stunned as he hung up the phone to even think to take action--go into the office and write the information down, get Pal and explain why he needed to take off. He was absolutely frozen. Almost literally. The goosebumps on his legs and arms scraped against the rough fabric of his uniform like sandpaper as he shivered. It took a long moment, way too long, for him to gather his wits enough to finally step through the door and write down the information he needed on a sticky note. By the time he turned around, Pal and the main mechanics all crowded the doorway, concerned faces shooting his lungs even farther into his stomach. He swallowed hard.

"Pal, I gotta… I gotta take off. My, uh--" he hadn't exactly "come out" to the guys here yet. It wasn't that he was hiding Ian or anything, there was just never a time where he felt the need to talk about him at work. The mechanics talked about pussy but rarely about wives or girlfriends or relationships so... Mickey just tried to not listen to their disgusting drivel whenever they got started. "My _partner_ ," Mickey croaked, "there's been an accident at work, he's an EMT--"

"Mick, it's okay. You can explain later, go!" Mickey's eyes roved the faces of all the mechanics and saw not one fraction of a difference in their expressions, not even after his admission of him having a 'partner.' He nodded slowly, returned the garage's wireless phones to their cradles, and looked around him to make sure all of his belongings were on him--Wallet, cigarettes and lighter, phone... and took off. He started off slow at first, but as the shock started to wear away and the panic-inducing images struck him--Ian covered in blood, broken limbs, trussed up in a hospital bed barely breathing with, with fucking wires and tubes attached everywhere--he started jogging, then running, then fucking _racing_ to the El.

As he sat on the train he stared at the hospital name written on the sticky note. He had messed with the tacky top of the paper so much that most of the stickiness was gone... Just a regular teeny scrap of colorful paper. But this teeny scrap of paper was the only connection that Mickey had to Ian right now. He knew where the hospital was--had walked by it and ridden by it so many times he could probably find it in his sleep. But he kept anxiously checking the map posted across from him in the metal body of the car anyway. His whole body was vibrating with anxiety, jittering with anticipation and impatience as he rode the five stops to the next platform to change trains.

His brain was curiously blank as his eyes flicked from paper to map to window and back again. He was totally and completely on autopilot. So even though it took an agonizing forty-five minutes to finally reach the hospital, sweaty and out of breath Mickey charged to the front desk of the emergency room and bellowed out Ian's name before the receptionist even had the chance to look up. She mindlessly grabbed a clipboard and pen and started to hand it to him, murmuring instructions to fill the form out and provide proof of insurance and he would be put into the queue, but he instinctually slapped the clipboard away.

"No! No..." He sucked in a deep breath, noticing a security guard rush to his side after the unintentionally violent outburst. "I'm sorry!" He held his palms up at the security guard in surrender and turned back to the receptionist, hands up to her in apology. "I'm sorry, look," He swallowed more air and nearly choked on it, his throat suddenly clogged with emotion. "Fuck, it's--My partner is here. I was told that my partner is here, Ian Gallagher!" The receptionist's eyes awoke in understanding and she turned back to her computer, scrolling with her mouse through the intake records, Mickey guessed. The security guard took one step back but did not leave. Mickey felt comfortable enough to lower his palms, though, gently laying his hands on the desk. His tattoos probably didn't help his case to show he was no longer a threat to the employees.... so he thrust his fingers through his hair and leaned on his elbows, waiting impatiently for her to answer.

"Gallgher, Ian... And you say you're his partner?" She checked. He nodded, leaning fully on the desk and lowering his hands back to the cheap plastic material. Another nurse charged over just as the woman Mickey was talking to opened her mouth.

"You say partner... As in, boyfriend?" The new woman demanded. Mickey's eyes opened wide, apprehension darkening his core. This was something he and Ian had always worried might happen but never believed actually would.

"Yeah..."

"Are you registered under domestic partnership?"

"What? No, no... We've just--"

"And he's not your husband?" 

"No, we're not married, but--"

"You have no right to the patient's information, then," the new bitch replied coldly. Mickey's heart shattered in his chest and fear quickly shifted to anger--his natural response.

"I have _every_ right, you don't know us!" He hissed, working to keep his response reasonable so as not to tip off Shaq beside him.

"Don't have a marriage license, don't have paperwork filed with the state?" Briefest pause, "then no, you don't."

"I'm his emergency contact at work, don't that count for somethin?" He shouted as the woman turned her back.

"We'll recommend his doctor inform him of more appropriate emergency contacts, people who can actually _see_ him and might have _some sort_ of legal claim to decision making and so forth." She turned her back again and Mickey darted to the left to keep her in his view.

"HEY!" He shouted, drawing her attention back to him. "He don't got anyone 'more appropriate!' _I_ know his medical history, _I_ helped him pick out his insurance plan, _I_ have known him inside and out for damn near _five years_!"

"Yeah? Then get the paper that says so and I'll have nothing sayin you don't," she sniffed and rushed away.

" _What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?"_ His mouth was far ahead of his brain at this point. Hell _no_ this bitch didn't just say that he didn't know Ian as well as he said he did and didn't have the _right_ to know if he was even fucking _alive_ just because they weren't married. Just as the security guard reached him, large hands wrapped around his upper arms and preparing to drag him back, a third female voice perked up.

"Hey! Officer, please. I'll take it from here." Mickey whipped around in the security guard's grasp to see Rita, Ian and Sue's supervisor. His whole body deflated as reality crashed down that this really was happening... This wasn't some sick joke or tragic mistake.

"Ma'am, you sure?" The guard asked, making more of a show at restraining him than was warranted. Mickey wasn't even fucking fighting him, the guy was probably just showing off. She turned her fierce eyes up at the guard and narrowed them.

"His partner is in the ER--he's distraught and worried, not a threat!" she snapped, cupping a gentle hand on Mickey's shoulder. Though the kind touch made him uncomfortable, he didn't fight it. Refusing to let her touch him would work against the kindness she was showing him. The guard finally let go and Mickey rotated his shoulders, forcing blood back through his biceps and subtly knocking Rita's hand off of him. As she guided him away from the front desk, Mickey ran a hand over his mouth, covering the slight breathless gasp of emotion he released as the realization that he couldn't see Ian shook him. She guided him to a pair of chairs directly in view of the front desk and also the set of doors where Mickey assumed they had taken Ian and Sue.

"I... We've been together for _years_ how do I not get to know what's going on? I... Why is he able to put me down as an emergency contact if that don't do anything?" Rita sucked in her lips and seemed to bite down on them. The seemed sympathetic, like she was silently and sadly agreeing with him.

"I guess you need to call his sister," Rita finally murmured. Mickey collapsed his face into his hand and groaned deep. _Fuck,_ his family! He'd been so in shock that he'd completely even forgotten Ian's own fucking family! He'd start with Fiona. He finally nodded, stood, and walked out the front doors to make his call. And have a fuckin cigarette.

….

"What the fuck do you mean you can't know what's going on with him?" Fiona demanded for the third time as she rushed onto the El. Each time Mickey moved to hang up she charged on, too worked up to recognize a _hint_ when she fucking heard it. Mickey was sucking down his second cigarette and fucking his hair up with how much he ran his fingers through it and grasped at the roots in frustration and.... fucking agony. "Fuckin tell them--"

"Fiona, if I show my ass any more than I already have I'll probably be fuckin arrested, okay?" He huffed defeatedly and sucked in more smoke. 

"I just-- _there's someone who cares for him right there and they're going to leave him all alone like that?"_ She cried hysterically. Mickey's entire core twisted and squeezed. His knees shook so hard he fell back into the bench beside the huge public ashtray and released a shaky breath.

"Fiona... That's _not_ helping!" Mickey practically wheezed the words. How bad was it? Was he knocking on death's door or did he just have a broken arm? Was he in a coma or did they get to sedate him for a hard, deep sleep that he'd wake up from with a residual high that he would act loopy and silly from? That was the worst fucking part of it all... he didn't know if it was a small thing or a huge thing! He didn't know how badly he should be worried!

"I'm, I'm sorry, Mickey, I just..." She blew out an exasperated breath and Mickey squeezed his eyes with his thumb and index finger to relieve the intense pressure building from unshed tears.

"Yeah, I know. But listen I haven't even asked Rita what she knows so let me go talk to her and I'll see you when you get here."

"Okay, okay, yeah... Yeah you go do that, and--" _click._

They didn't need to make a sub-plan. The plan was for him to go talk to Rita and for her to fucking get here. Whatever she did while riding the El was her fucking choice and Mickey didn't particularly give a rat's ass what that was. He mashed the remainder of the cigarette into the sand in the little basin of the public ashtray and briskly returned to the waiting room where Rita sat, impatiently waiting. At his approach, her eyes and brows raised and she gestured for him to rejoin her.

"Get hold of Fiona?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah..." He wasn't sure what all she knew about Ian's family but it was weird to find out that she knew so much that she'd automatically guess her. "Yeah, she's on the way." 

"Good, good..." She replied absently. Her gaze drifted off to the table in the middle of the waiting area covered with a disorganized assortment of old magazines. Mickey sank into his chair, legs spreading in an easy position. When his knee brushed Rita's crossed leg, though, he readjusted and leaned forward in his seat, bringing his legs back in. In this position, though, he felt his stomach curdle with fear and anxiety.

"Wha-what happened?" Mickey finally whispered. Rita shifted beside him but he didn't look at her. She sighed and uncrossed her legs, then leaned forward to mirror his form.

"Sue had a seizure while transporting a patient to the ER. I don't really know what happened from there except that Ian jumped from the back before she crashed into a storefront." Mickey winced and sucked in a terrified breath. She nodded beside him and sat up straight again, crossing her legs once again. "We know it was a seizure because he called it in... sounded like maybe he tried to get control of the wheel or something, or at least what's what I was told."

Why would he try to gain control of the wheel when he already had a patient in the back to protect? None of this made sense... Of course, this was the single most terrifying experience of Ian's life so it would be no shock that he might do something thoughtless.

"He... he jumped out of the back?" Mickey repeated almost silently. He didn't receive an answer so he turned to see Rita nod.

"Why would he--he wouldn't--"

"The patient must have already flatlined... He'd never abandon a patient like that." Mickey nodded, relieved that she had come to the same conclusion.

"Do you--?" he couldn't finish the question, but after a brief pause, Rita seemed to pick up the last of his question.

"I don't know the injuries. I just know they're both alive and in the OR... And that neither of them were conscious when paramedics arrived for them." Mickey's leg started bouncing beneath his arm, but he couldn't stop the nervous movement. He bit his lip and buried his face in his arms, fingers gripping in his hair.

" _Fuck..."_

……. 

Fiona arrived twenty minutes later, rushing first to the front desk, shouting over a short line of people, demanding to speak to someone about someone in surgery. Mickey and Rita both jumped up to stand with Fiona who flung her arms around Mickey's neck and crushed his body to hers before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

"Mickey! Fuck!" she sobbed. He grunted and patted her back, taking a deep breath when she finally released him. Fiona tore her fingers through her hair and damn near exploded with questions. Over her rants, Mickey, Rita, and a couple security guards tried to get her to chill the fuck out.

"We don't--"

"Fiona, we--"

"Just wait, the nurses will--?"

"Calm down!"

"Miss, we need you to--"

" _Fiona!"_ Mickey finally shouted in her face, gripping her arms tight. Her eyes widened to pitiful, shiny doe eyes, instantly filling with tears. "You gotta wait to ask _them, we_ don't know _shit_!" Fiona glared at the short line that had so far not moved an inch and nodded nervously.

"Fiona? I'm Rita Smith, Ian's supervisor," Rita introduced, sticking her hand out for Fiona to shake. Fiona accepted with a weak grasp and sniffled back her tears.

"Yeah, I remember. You know anythin about what happened?" She asked, her voice coming out rough from the pent-up emotion.

"All I know is that his partner, Sue, had a seizure while en route to the emergency room for a patient. Ian was working in back and called in Sue's seizure and from there all we know is she hit a storefront and at some point eye-witnesses report that Ian jumped out of the back of the ambulance." 

" _Jesus!"_ Fiona gasped, covering her mouth as she sank into a fit of tears. Though Mickey was usually _not_ the comforting type, to anyone but Ian at least, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close. "Jesus, _fuck!_ " she sobbed into Mickey's shoulder. His own throat constricted and he wanted nothing more than to crumble right with her, but one of them had to keep their wits about them for _Ian._ He was already prepared for that responsibility, so here he was owning up to it.

……. 

Two hours later brought two more Gallaghers, Sue's husband, and no updates after the initial "he's in surgery for two shattered arms" that Fiona was able to get when she first arrived. Two hours also emptied Mickey's pack of smokes and half of Lip's. Their relationship had always been tense, but thank God in a moment like this Lip was able to put everything aside and recognize how hard this was on Mickey. Every time he so much as twitched Lip was on him to go outside for a smoke.

"You know what'd be _really_ helpful would be some fuckin vodka or whisky," Mickey muttered after what was probably his eighth completed cigarette. Lip nodded sullenly then shrugged.

"Fresh outta that, I'm afraid," he replied lightly.

"Son of a _bitch,_ " Mickey exhaled, collapsing into the same fetal position he'd assumed several times already. He wasn't usually the type to show his concern but... suddenly, he trusted Lip to allow him this vulnerability. There was begrudging respect in Lip's eyes these days, and the begrudging part was almost completely absent when he looked at him now. Did it really take this type of emergency for Lip to _finally_ understand how much he loved his brother? Mickey could have snorted at the thought, but he didn't want to verbalize the thought. Unbelievable.

"It's his arms, but _he's_ alive and _he's_ fine, Mickey," Lip reassured for the twentieth time.

"Yeah... yeah..." Mickey murmured without any sincerity. Ian might be alive but Mickey didn't know what that _meant._ Did he hit his head and lose the ability to do something? Would he remember his EMT shit to keep doin his job? Would one of the arms not recover properly? _Both?_ What if he couldn't be an EMT anymore?! It wasn't so much that Mickey was afraid that Ian was dead or on death's door-- _thankfully_ that fear was gone. But what remained was Mickey's heart breaking at the thought of Ian's life changing forever because of a freak fuckin accident! And how fuckin fair was it that Sue's husband was already back there with her and they were talking about a two day observation period to figure out what happened--in case you didn't catch that, _the bitch was already fucking awake and in her own room and shit!--_ but Ian who was in the back and probably did everything he could to save their patient _and_ her was still passed out and in surgery? How fucking fair was that? So fuck Lip's "he's fine" bullshit. Ian was not _automatically_ fine. Ian was not fine until Mickey saw with his own two fucking eyes that he was fine.

The door burst open and both men turned their attention to Fiona flying out of the doors.

"He's outa surgery! They say he did great an' he should be awake in an hour or two!" Mickey's legs, which had started bouncing _again_ at some point, stilled and he felt his entire weight sink into the bench, his head tipping back limply.

Thank... GOD.

…….

What they _didn't_ tell Fiona was that only kin could visit when those two hours were up. The orderly had taken inventory of all his visitors: sister, brother, brother, _boyfriend._ The way she'd hissed that word should have tipped Mickey off to what would happen next... Fucking old, wrinkled hand to his chest and a firm "apology" (if you could fucking call it that, the old bitch was fucking _smug_ to say it) that only relatives were allowed in. Mickey had been tempted to list to the old bat everything he'd fucking done for Ian--she if she could say he wasn't kin _then--_ but mere seconds passed before a much younger nurse ran through the doors.

"Mr. Gallagher is _frantic_ to see his partner, Mrs. Fena!" The orderly turned to the younger nurse, brows furrowed in annoyance.

"Well tell him that isn't possible--"

"His sister can't even get him back into bed, ma'am. He's quite determined." Mrs. _Fena's_ back straightened, eyes wide.

"He only came out of anesthesia half an hour ago! He _can't_ be out of bed!" And without double checking that Mickey wasn't following... she ran through the door. Mickey eyed the younger nurse, ready to dart around her if need be, but she only asked, "You're him?" Mickey nodded and half a breath later, he slipped through the doors to the recovery unit.

He didn't need any further assistance finding Ian's room from the doors. He was relatively close but even if he weren't, the redhead's boisterous voice fucking _carried_ in this otherwise silent ward. Mickey followed the noise approximately six doors down and shoved his way through two nurses, Carl, and Fiona all watching in horror as Lip and the head nurse worked together to get him back in bed.

"MR. _Gallagher! Please!"_ the fuckin bitch cried, pressing on him anywhere that wasn't bandaged or near the two massive casts covering Ian's arms. Suddenly, Ian collapsed into bed, the nurse barely catching herself from falling on him.

"Mick!" Ian bursted into a giant smile, but winced as the expression irritated a deep bruise on his cheekbone.

"Ian..." Mickey breathed. He damn near ran the five steps to Ian's side and lightly brushed his fingertips against his unbruised cheek, around his ears, through the slightly buzzed portion of his hair. Ian started to reach his own hand up, but he winced and lay back, letting Mickey touch him, comforting himself and Ian both.

"Mr. Gallagher--"

"Are we going to have a fucking problem?" Lip demanded behind Mickey. Mickey was hunched over, his forehead resting against Ian's and they both breathed each other's air--sweet with relief and reunion. He could vaguely hear the argument going on around them, knowing that it was Fiona and Lip cussing out the old bitchy nurse... But Mickey didn't hear a word of it. A chair magically appeared behind Mickey's knees and he rest on the edge of it, leaning as far as he could so Ian didn't have to stretch out for him. Mickey pulled back just enough so they could look comfortably in each other's eyes.

"I--Fucking _Christ,_ Ian, I don't think I've ever been so fucking scared!" He didn't mean to blurt this out. It wasn't right to make Ian feel guilty for something that wasn't his fault but... It was all he could think of. "Jesus Christ, for _hours_ they wouldn't tell me anything, and then all they'd say is you were in surgery and then... Just..." Ian shushed him gently and looked like he so desperately wanted to touch him.

"I'm so sorry, Mick. I know that must've been rough--"

" _Rough?_ " Mickey scoffed. Ian smirked.

"To put it lightly." Mickey sat back in the chair to give his back a rest.

"You're damn right, lightly. Like... Understatement of the century, lightly!" When they were both done with their dark chuckles Mickey took a really good look at Ian... A cut sliced through his left eyebrow, the bruise on his cheekbone was actually more like the entire right side of his _face._ Then he noticed numerous scrapes along the his jaw on the left side. "Jesus, Ian..." Ian gulped in air and nodded in understanding.

Suddenly, Mickey realized the cunty nurse was gone and only he, Ian, and the Gallaghers remained. Fiona appeared on Ian's right and Mickey turned his attention to her.

"Hey, sweetface," she said in her motherly sugary sweet tone. "You scared the fuckin _shit_ out of us!"

"I... I know..." Ian sighed.

"Glad you're okay, bro!" Lip chimed in. Ian grinned.

"So what happened?" Mickey finally asked.

_Ian had realized fairly quickly that Sue was having a seizure. Meanwhile, he had just secured the IV in their hyperthermia patient call's arm and was determining how to steadily lower her core temp when he felt the reverberations of the tires hitting the grooves on the shoulder of the road. At first he didn't mind it because that sometimes was required to pass cars... but it kept happening as though she wasn't getting around a line of cars. One quick glance through the divider showed Ian that Sue was driving on the fucking shoulder of the freeway!_

_"Fuck!" he scraped the stretcher down in the cab and quickly ensured the wheels were locked before opening the dividing plexiglass and thrusting himself waist-deep through the opening. Carefully, he reached his arm back up to his shoulder to call in their_ fucked-up _situation._

 _"This is Gallagher from bus 25! My partner is mid-seizure and_ operating _the vehicle going down Stevenson Expressway. I repeat, the_ driver _of bus 25 is in mid-seizure!" He released the talk button and thrust an arm forward to steady the wheel. "Sue! Sue!" He screeched as he looked wildly about the cab for some way to move her out of the way so he could assume the driver's seat. All he heard in return from his partner was a slight gurgle and moan. He glanced down at the floorboard and to his horror saw that her leg was extended and locked on the accelerator. "Fuuuuuuckkkk," Ian groaned as he thought, desperately wracking his brain for what to do. He couldn't very well drive while she worked through her_ seizure _!--_

_He jerked the wheel to avoid drifting into the guardrail of the merging ramp when he heard the alarming beeps to alert him to a problem with his hyperthermia patient._

_"FUCK!"_

The room was so silent that every breath Ian took that rustled the linens sounded like someone crinkling a thick piece of tarp.

"I really don't even remember what I did after that I just... blanked, moved on autopilot. The seizure ended pretty fast and she gripped the wheel again and... I don't know, for some reason I let go of the wheel and went back to the patient, but she'd already flatlined and--" Ian's voice choked off and Mickey's hold on Ian's upper thigh tightened in concern.

"It's okay, you did what you had to do," Mickey whispered passionately. Ian nodded and went to wipe his eyes but winced as he moved his arm, cursing under his breath. Fiona snapped up a few tissues and wiped his eyes for him. The room was deathly silent for a long time and Mickey could practically read the self-loathing in Ian's eyes. "Ian," Mickey murmured gently into the quiet. Ian's eyes stayed fixed on his twin casts. "Ian, look at me." With much reluctance, Ian finally lifted his battered face to face Mickey. The image still took Mickey's breath away. "Ian... If you had stayed that way, half in the cab, half in the back when the ambulance crashed, you _would have died._ " Ian's eyes darkened with Mickey's point. It was something he had considered, and yet Ian still wondered if he should have done it... stayed put a little longer so he could guide them to a softer collision--it was all over his face. " _Ian--"_

"What the _fuck,_ Mickey?!" Fionia screamed. Mickey didn't even look at her.

"He feels guilty for making an impossible choice, costing the patient and letting the ambulance crash, but you _know what, Ian?"_ Ian's eyes stayed fixed on Mickey's, exactly as Mickey wanted it. "You would have gone straight the fuck through the windshield hanging out like that. You. Would. Have. Died." His voice cracked on each emphasized word as tears of his own welled. 

"Mickey, I don't think--"

" _You did_ ," Mickey continued, talking over Lip's interruption, "What you had to fuckin do to _live_." The room collapsed into dark silence, broken only by Ian's responding whimper and sniff. And I can _never_ thank you enough for that, Ian." Mickey's voice finally completely broke and his hands fisted in the blankets. 

Ian could have fucking _died_ trying to guide that ambulance farther than he could! He would have literally broken his own fucking neck trying! Mickey wasn't arrogant or confident within himself enough to believe that Ian made that decision consciously for Mickey, but that was irrelevant. Ian had chosen life in that impossible moment. Neither Fiona nor Lip made a single noise as Ian and Mickey cried together, though he was sure everyone in that room was in tears that night. 

Fiona sucked in a huge breath, evidently uncomfortable with the truth that Mickey just put into the room, and asked why eye-witnesses say they saw him "jump" from the back. Ian inhaled deeply through his mouth, sniffled, and continued.

"When we crashed, I was thrown to the doors and I guess I threw my hands out in front of me... so that's how I cleanly broke the left arm and broke the radius, fractured the ulna of the right. The bus had just _barely_ made contact when I opened the back door to go check on Sue, but I guess I fell out, hit my head, and passed out." Ah... So that's what happened to his face. Mickey's heart sank in pity and sadness.

Barely ten minutes later the nice nurse came by to tell the Gallaghers they had to go home. Mickey barely even shifted in his seat, just enough to make peripheral eye contact with the nurse, a silent declaration that he wasn't going the fuck _anywhere._

"Get lots of rest, sweetface," Fiona sighed against the top of Ian's head before giving him a fierce kiss. Lip clapped a gentle hand on Ian's shoulder, and Carl offered a tearful one armed hug. Mickey made no move to stand.

And the kind nurse didn't say a fucking word.

/////

No one ever expects the worst day of their life. And no one really thinks about what comes after that day.

More shit, one would suppose. But often times that's not true. Sure, the next few days, maybe even next few weeks are Hell... but at some point it's going to get better, even if it's just for a moment.

And even if things don't get _better_ per se, things can still return to normal.

Luckily, normal was exactly _all_ Mickey was asking for.

Ian returned home the next day and the first thing he and Mickey did was take a shower. Mickey helped him cover his casts, strip from the tank top and basketball shorts Lip had brought from home, and gently wash the cuts on his face. And because it was _them_ the experience was even a little fun...

Ian, the tall fucker, asked Mickey if he could reach far enough to wash his hair and Mickey threatened to leave him there to fend for his _own_ fucking hair--something they both knew he would never, ever do even as a joke. It made Ian smile, nonetheless, and stop teasing the shorter man. Mickey ran his fingers through the red wet strands and took his sweet ass time lathering the shampoo into his hair. That gorgeous, gorgeous hair that Mickey loved. Ian's eyes had slid closed from the slight massage Mickey was giving him, and Mickey reached up to plant the most gentle of kisses against Ian's unexpectant lips. Ian twitched in surprise, but did not jerk away. They kissed until the suds had all cleared away, racing down the drain. They kissed until the water ran clear with no more dirt or loose scabbing. They kissed through the hot water, lips lingering on each others just because they _could._ Mickey luxuriated in, basked in what he could do.

He could touch Ian, he could tickle Ian, he could tease Ian, he could _feel_ Ian and see Ian and taste Ian. And Ian could do (almost) all of those things too.

After Mickey cut off the freezing water, they still stood together in the shower, arms Mickey's arms wrapped loosely around Ian's waist, fingers exploring his perfect back.

"Hate that I can't touch you..." Ian whispered, lowering his lips to Mickey's. Mickey accepted the kiss and sighed into it.

" _I_ can touch _you_ , though. I'm good with that," he replied mutely. Ian smirked.

"Yeah, that's good for _you_ maybe. What about me?" Ian chuckled quietly. Mickey stood back, brow arched.

"You forget who's gonna be takin care of _every. single. thing. about you_ for the next month. _EVERY_ thing. You'll find a way to make it up to me, _believe_ that." Ian bursted out laughing so hard that Mickey actually had to reach out to stabilize him.

"That is an excellent point," Ian finally responded levelly. "I can't imagine what in the world I could do to make it up to you, but... I guess I have the rest of my life to figure it out." Mickey rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, nearly bellowing with the offense.

"You're being _that fucking corny_ because you _know I can't punch you!"_


End file.
